Glory Gone
by Windlion
Summary: When you're the only one left, is it all worth it? A rather short, rather dark and depressing digi AU; in general, weird and creepy. ^^;;;;


Disclaimer: Not mine, no money earned, no bishounen harmed in the making of this fic. . . Bah, I don't even know what I'm doing with them. ^^;;;; 

Warnings: dark AU digimon deathfic. (Man, all I need to add is angst and I've got a full house. . .) 

Author's notes: 

This is an odd bit of darkness dredged up while attempting to sleep in 90 degree weather. 

It's weird and short, turned out in about an hour. . . And did I mention dark? I have no idea where this one came from. *shrugs* Feedback is, as always, very much welcome. 

~Wind

Glory Gone

People will do anything to survive, _become_ anything. 

To flee just one step ahead of the enemy, humans will throw aside all baggage, from their cherished mementos to their youngest children, and become vicious killers. 

And, if they are pushed far enough, they will scrape away their emotions, too. Your own ruthless claws scrape away everything from the outside, everything you ever were to anyone else, friend, son, daughter, lover, acquaintance, that face in the halls. . .

Friends and family are wiped away so you can live another hour, to die another day. The face in the mirror becomes a stranger.

And when those are long gone, the pressure becomes too much again. . . the claws turn inwards. Hopes, dreams, unexplored emotions the depth of which you never realized, all are ripped out by the roots and thrown behind. 

In the end, all that remains is a thin, fractured shell, a veneer of humanity with emptiness behind it. 

It is only far later, in a moment of clarity, that you realize the greatest tragedy of all. Survival is nothing when, in your haste to survive, you have lost all ability to feel, and all memory of who you were. In victory, you can no longer remember how to be yourself. 

How do I know?   
I am the victor. I am the last surviving member of our little team. I think I was a child once, but I don't remember what that means anymore. We all lost our innocence long ago. Children don't have to kill to survive, watch their closest companions self-destruct, witness the tortured ruins of their best friend thrown out to die alone. 

I don't remember how it all began anymore, those short, endless pair of years ago. All I know is that we were finally getting close to nailing the Digimon Emperor, that bastard, when he sent forward one last monster. 

This digimon was one we'd never seen before; it called itself Wormmon. It didn't wear a dark spiral, a dark ring, or identify itself as a virus. . . yet it fought so desperately we were forced to kill it to defeat it. We were confident that we'd beaten yet another lackey, but the triumph was hollow. We could all feel it, no matter how we tried to rejoice : this one was different. 

It was the worst mistake we'd ever make, the worst we could have ever made.

You see, we thought the Emperor was bad before. After we defeated Wormmon, he went mad. 

* **

I have been forgotten temporarily in this bitter cold cell. My eyes can barely make out the tiny, twisted form hanging across from me, and I quickly glance away. It's enough that we're safe for now. 

I've tried to warm myself with memories of what I was, but the embers of the fires I was are dying, turned into faded glimpses of disjointed memories in a fractured mirror. . . Ever the athlete, the rebel, quick to act without a concept of risk or fear, quick to speak honestly. I guess I was rash; TK always told me I was nuts. Then again, TK died five months ago. He broke down after we found Kari, left like refuse in a crumpled heap in an ghost town. . . . After losing Patamon only a week before, he couldn't take any more losses. I tried to help him, anything, but it was too little too late. No angel came to catch him, that day. . . Or perhaps he was one himself. Only three of us were left, then. . . I just went numb. 

It's hard to remember how the others died. . . One by one. Captured, tortured, broken and bleeding. . . Systematically separated, cornered, outnumbered, and run ragged. Or insidious accidents, a hit and run coming home from tennis practice, a falling beam from a construction site on a walk to school, a midnight trip down steep steps, until we were afraid to go home, to put our families at risk. 

I still can't believe the digimon Emperor is human. Not after that. 

***

A whimper and rustle, accompanied by the ever-steady drip of blood, stirs me from my thoughts. The sounds fill me with dread as much as those footsteps down the hall do. . . 

He promises pain and destruction, insane retribution to avenge. . . a sharp knife of torture. 

This helplessness, being forced to witness to the deepest of pain. . . This is a knife twisted. 

Pinned to the wall across from me, Veemon writhes in agony. 

Of course, I'm the last one. . . We've kept alive, one step ahead of his scythe all this time. . . 

Of course he doesn't need to enslave Veemon, like he did Greymon, and any one else unlucky enough to be caught alive. . . because there's nothing left to fight. 

The digital world has been brutally torn apart by our battles.

And there's nothing we can do about it. 

The Emperor nearly killed Veemon last time, and even now he's in his death throes. 

But in the height of his agony, he distracted _him_ just enough that I could get something that would make surviving worth it.

A shard of metal rests between my shackled hands. 

I twist the shard in my hands behind my back, watching the faintest glimmer of light reflected from it dance around the cell. I can feel it cut into my hands, fresh blood trickling down to join the old, proving its worth. 

With this, I can take control of my destiny again. 

Veemon, I won't make you travel the path alone, I promise. 

As the harsh, uneven breathing catches one last time, I meet and hold the round black eyes in the gloom. My hands twitch, seemingly a spasm, but with clear intent. 

First one, then the other arm, the long vein opened above the damning shackles. The force drives the shard into my palms, but I don't mind. The more the merrier. . . 

Pain is nothing but a release. . . As I fall to the floor, I realize how long I've been waiting for it. For years and years. . .

Friends, I'm coming. 

The vibrations through the floor don't register at first, not at all until I see the black boots before me. 

For a moment, panic seizes me and won't let go, making the world seem dizzy as the Emperor crouches to look into my face. 

Then, just as suddenly, the dizziness passes, sliding away to join the brilliant red puddle growing around me. It's funny, I never realized how beautiful scarlet is, the same crimson as the flame that was my trademark. In the absence of fear, I'm almost giddy with relief. I have escaped, he can't possibly pull me back now. I've won. . .

Being the victor is worth something. 

My breathing is too shallow for me to speak, even if my teeth weren't chattering with the arctic cold seeping through me. So I smile. 

And as I smile, I realize he's crying. . . 

The world becomes dark as first one, then another, then yet another drop of burning warmth splashes on my face. 

Why. . .? 

I am free; I am going to join my long lost friends. . . But as the cell and pain fades away into the cold, I am haunted by a memory of violet eyes brimming with tears. 

~Owari~


End file.
